About pages have an inherent awkwardness, especially on personal websites. For some reason, I find it incredibly difficult to eschew biographical embellishment and just keep it real. Mainly because my life is so ordinary, and I’m not that interesting. Or maybe I’m worried that you won’t like me if my About page isn’t appropriately adorned with a long list of impressive accomplishments. Just so you know, I did win a spelling bee in elementary school, a title I held for about an hour. Sadly, the ridiculously tiny trophy I was given as a symbol of my victory was later taken away from me and awarded to my competitor.

Apparently, at the conclusion of the competition, my opponent’s mom filed a formal complaint with the judges, alleging that the word her daughter misspelled in the finals was too difficult for our division and should be thrown out. The judges agreed and made me give the trophy back. They then proceeded to give it to the little girl whose mom had a big mouth. I’m still bitter about that experience, even though the school I attended at the time tried to make amends for the emotional trauma I endured by awarding me a trophy of their own, which was even smaller than the original trophy I received from the (stupid) people who sponsored the spelling bee. Not surprisingly, that was the last time I ever competed in a competition like that.

But even self-deprecation gets old after a while. We all need to talk about what we’ve done or what we’re doing. We’re human after all. At present, my life is best described through a series of words. Words like: Son, Brother, Husband, Father, Bibliophile (made possible by amazon.com), Yankee (by way of Massachusetts), Student, Dreamer, Teacher, Leader, Follower, Writer, Reader, Worshipper, Lover, Friend, Sinner, Christian, Pastor, Fan, Coffee Drinker (Starbucks preferrably).

Oh, and my middle name is Edgar. Yes, that’s right, Edgar. Don’t laugh. It could have happened to you.

There’s not a single word or image with enough depth to capture the essence of Jesus. He is too large to contain. He can’t be adequately summarized through print or portrait. No author or artist is capable of communicating the grandeur of a life so large. This was John’s admission at the end of the fourth Gospel.

Perhaps Jesus’s most beloved follower, John concluded his first-hand account of Jesus’s life by saying, “Jesus did many other things as well. If every one of them were written down, I suppose that even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written” (John 21:25). John was acknowledging his own journalistic limitations. But he was also lifting the veil so that we could see the inexhaustible Christ.

Since John penned those words, every writer and painter who has ever tackled the subject matter of Jesus has had to yield to the limits of their own imagination and artistic skill. Jesus can’t be confined to canvas or paper. Another universe would have to be created to store the books about his life. But in Jesus God walked among us, and we might have missed him without the writings of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. The Gospels are the living, breathing documents that allow us to experience the multi-faceted brilliance of Jesus Christ. They give us a snapshot of the history-making man from Nazareth and show us the human face of God.

What would this world be like if we had no record of Jesus’s life, his death, his resurrection? Could we live with ourselves and others without knowing the Teacher from Galilee? There’s something about his life that gives us courage and hope. Almost irresistibly, we are drawn to him. Even if we loathe our own skepticism and unbelief, we recognize something in Jesus that we know, almost intuitively, we need in ourselves: absolute trust in God.

The world has yet to produce a man or a woman on a par with Jesus. Although that may seem like an outrageous statement to make, it’s unavoidable. Throughout history, people of profound importance have come and gone, leaving their unique contributions behind. We recognize their impact on society. In some cases, we study their lives, trying to unlock the secrets to their success. Whether it’s Edison or Einstein, Mother Teresa or Billy Graham, it would be impossible to talk about history-making individuals without discussing their exceptional characteristics. It’s no different with Jesus.

Very few people would deny Jesus’s significance. Some try to avoid it, inwardly hoping he’s unimportant. Others deal with Jesus intellectually, throwing him into the same category as Buddha or Gandhi. Even after two thousand years, there are still those who believe that a convincing argument or persuasive debate will plunge Jesus into irrelevance. But Jesus seems to defy his detractors. In fact, during times of unusual opposition to Jesus, his followers have always grown stronger and more convinced of his absolute relevance to everything. It seems that their soul-deep connection to the Christ gives them the courage to withstand the most violent hostility. But how could this be?

The questions are unavoidable. And the answers inescapable. A thoughtful analysis of Jesus’s life leaves us wondering how he could invoke such passion in so many for so long without publishing a book, hosting a talk show, or building a single structure to house his operations. How do you sustain a revolution if you’re unwilling to promote yourself or your cause through the normal distribution channels? How do you get anything done if you don’t even have a place to sleep?

Jesus never does anything in an ordinary way.

Since his arrival the world has never been the same. Maybe it’s because he’s such a disturbing reminder that goodness and greatness rarely come wrapped in the package we might expect. Instead, he arrives mysteriously cloaked in the most common form — the form of a servant (Philippians 2:7). Even his earliest followers struggled to understand all that they had seen and heard from their unconventional Rabbi. They asked questions like, “What kind of man is this?” (Matthew 8:27) Eventually, those closest to the Teacher reported that his own mother regularly reflected on his words and actions, apparently trying to make sense of their significance (Luke 2:51). Jesus was different, unique, uncommon. Mary knew it. So did everyone else.

Ordinarily, a carpenter’s son was not prepared to effectively challenge the time-honored customs of his day, not to mention confront those who protected and practiced them. Jesus was a first-century anomaly; a radical departure from the status quo; a threat to those who threatened. Not much has changed. Centuries later, authors, artists, activists, even atheists are unable to shake the emotions his indestructible life inspires. You and I are no different. Our lives are lived in response to what we believe about Jesus. He has an unusual way of arousing our spiritual curiosity and demanding a response.

Think about it: How did a thirty-something from Nazareth start a revolution that would ultimately yank the entire ancient world into its vortex and turn the Roman Empire upside down? How did a man accustomed to working with wood acquire the skills necessary to transform the human heart? How did an ordinary Jew of questionable birth and humble origins become the focal point of history?

I’ve been working out since the thirtieth of October, almost seven weeks. During that time, I’ve dropped seventeen pounds, possibly more. I’m thinking it’s probably closer to twenty, but I didn’t weigh in during my first two weeks back in the gym. It doesn’t matter all that much. My main goal was to get healthy again, which is something I expressed in my first post on this blog. In less than fifty days I’ve experienced a noticeable increase in energy, a significant reduction in mid-day fatigue, and a renewed sense of emotional and spiritual optimism, which, I believe, is as much related to diet and exercise as it is to prayer and Bible reading. I must say that I have a new appreciation for the interconnectedness of body, mind, and spirit. Neglect one and the other two are significantly diminished. I may write more about this in the future. I do think that we need a more integrated, holistic faith that helps us “exercise” the whole person. But I digress.

With the Philadelphia Marathon less than one year away, there’s a very strong chance that I may be healthy enough to participate. If you had told me that one year ago, I would have probably thanked you for your optimism but ultimately dismissed you for your naiveté. At that point, pessimism — which is possibility’s sinister foe — had yanked me into a vortex of visionless thinking. I was just existing. I couldn’t entertain the thought that I might feel well enough to run. Now all I can do is imagine the possibilities.

Generated by Wordle on December 8, 2008.